


Bloodlines

by sanctuary_for_all



Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV), The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Angst with a Happy Ending, But Len makes a great Selene, Feels, Fluff and Angst, Leonard Snart Big Bang, M/M, They're both broody and dramatic as hell, This was probably a terrible mistake, underworld AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-03
Updated: 2018-09-04
Packaged: 2019-07-06 10:30:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 13,953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15884247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sanctuary_for_all/pseuds/sanctuary_for_all
Summary: For Len, there were far more important things than an ancient war between vampires and lycans.(AKA the Coldwave "Underworld" AU almost no one asked for.)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> There are a ton of AUs where Len's a vampire, and Mick's a werewolf, but somehow I could never find the "Underworld" AU I've been craving for literally years (a movie, fun fact, that Wentworth Miller had a small part in). Still, this never would have happened without nimadge's faithful poking, even though she was as convinced as I was that it would never actually make a fic happen. It may not have been what you wanted, but at least the blasted thing finally exists. 
> 
> The name tweaks happened to bring their names at least slightly more in line with the Hungarian ancestry they were granted by the movie. The plot tweaks came at both Len's insistence and because "Underworld" might be a fun movie, but it's not that great at coherent plotting or emotional development.

Len didn't give a damn about the war. He'd heard the stories often enough – how vampires were the superior species, how the lycan were “traitorous dogs” who had betrayed the vampires’ “generosity” and risen up in insurrection – but he knew they were just as much a con as any reason people ever bothered giving for a war. The real reason vampires and lycans had fought and killed each other for centuries was the same reason everyone fought – to keep the power they had, or steal it back from the people who had it.

Len didn't care about power in the same way everyone else did. No one could give him what he wanted most, and he wasn't quite ready to kill the one person he'd happily give his life to see die. Until he was, fighting the "good fight" was the best cover he had. It was a means to an end, nothing more.

Besides, he was good at killing. When your heart had frozen centuries ago, it was almost easy.

000

The lycans were hunting.

What, Len didn’t know. If they’d been hungry, the carnage would have started the moment the lycan team stepped into the subway tunnel full of tasty humans. Instead, they were moving among them as if humans themselves, given away only by the predatory gleam in their eyes as they tracked the crowd for… something.

“I count eight. Twice the size of their usual team.” Sara’s voice in his ear, as briskly efficient as always. His second-in-command, she’d lived only a century less than he had and seen her sister murdered by a human mob during the French Revolution. They never spoke about it, but that shared connection had led to an understanding Len might have called friendship in another life. “And Amaya’s definitely leading the show.”

“Shit.” That was Jax, at a mere 95 years by far the youngest member of the Death Dealer squad. The fact that he was that much better than vampires centuries older had caused him some trouble with the more useless members of the coven, but he handled them all with a combination of skill and good humor that was rare among vampires.

Lisza, Len suspected, would have liked him.

He shook the thought away as he scanned the crowds, tracking all eight members of the lycan team. They were scanning the crowd as well, with a particularly careful eye to the humans who were getting off the subway cars, and Len realized they weren’t looking for some _thing_. They were looking for some _one_.

“Keep an eye on everyone leaving the subway cars,” he told them, moving through the crowd to get into a better position without being seen. “The puppies are waiting for someone.”

“They might be looking to steal themselves a doctor from the hospital a few blocks south,” Jax said. “Not so easy for their healing factor to take care of some of the weapons Cisco cooks up.”

“Doctors are useful for more than just healing,” Sara said, her voice darkening. “But if they turn them, there’s no way to be sure they’ll stay loyal.”

Len stayed silent. It wasn’t a bad theory, but something felt off about it. The lycans weren’t stupid, no matter what the vampires liked to tell themselves, and there was no way they’d send out a team this big just to pick up what was essentially a luxury resource to them. Particularly not a team led by Amaya, the fiercest, most dangerous leader the lycans had since Lord Hunter’s death in 1628.

No, they were plotting something considerably more serious.

Just then, a human police officer approached one of the lycans. “Listen, buddy,” he said, scanning the man’s leather outfit with obvious disapproval. The one thing lycans and vampires alike tended to forget was that the kind of outfits meant for dramatic mood lighting stood out like hell on the average modern street. “I don’t know what’s going on here, but you need to do it—”

The lycan turned, murder in his eye, and a voice Len recognized as Amaya’s had just enough time to growl out “Nathan, don’t!” before her disobedient lycan pulled his gun and shot the human in the face. The entire subway platform erupted into chaos, his death dealers returning the lycans’ fire as the humans screamed and tried to run for cover.

Len moved, firing at the lycans with methodical precision. The lycans were less enemies than they were problems to solve, the human bystanders inconvenient variables rather than innocents he worried about protecting. Staying alive was important – he had things to do – but not important enough to cause him undue stress in the middle of a firefight.

The cold, as always, didn't let him feel much of anything.

The mass of panicking humans seemed to thin slightly, and out of the corner of his eye he saw a bald, rough-looking human urging and sometimes physically dragging people to safety. The extra space meant he could see when Digger went down, flaring blue before he crumbled to ash.

Clearly, the puppies had picked up a new toy somewhere.

Putting gun retrieval on his immediate to-do list, Len moved deeper into the melee. None of the lycans had turned yet – human mobs were one enemy both they and vampires had in common, and there were still plenty of people in view – but the fight was getting more physical. Len’s own preferred fighting style was usually to shoot his enemies before they got anywhere near him – guns were _such_ an improvement over swords – but he was also fine smashing them in the head with his gun when it proved necessary. He’d covered the sides in silver, just to make it especially painful.

A huge lycan must have been out of bullets, because he charged Len and knocked him off his feet. He started changing on the way down, a process Len stopped with three liquid silver bullets to the stomach. Then he pushed the twitching lycan off him, a process made more challenging by the fact that he hadn’t died yet.

Unfortunately, moving the soon-to-be body revealed the lycan who had killed the cop, smirking down at Len with his gun aimed directly between Len’s eyes. Len lifted his gun anyway, even though he knew he would be an instant too slow, and cursed himself for waiting so long to kill his—

Out of nowhere, someone came from the side and slammed into the lycan. The shot went sideways, the lycan going down, and Len sprang to his feet. The lycan was up a second later, flinging the guy who’d taken him down aside, and Len put two bullets in his head between one breath and the next.

Only then did he look down, finally processing that the groaning figure on the ground was the bald human. A human who, after he’d done everything he could to protect his fellow humans, had decided to jump back into the fight to save Len.

The thought made him feel like something was lodged in his chest, and he reached out a hand without even realizing he’d done it. The human took it, letting Len help him to his feet, and even after he let go Len’s hand was as warm as if he hadn’t.

He shoved the thought aside when he saw Amaya focus on them from across the platform. She focused on him, rage flaring in her eyes, then it vanished as her gaze sharpened with sudden attention. Not at him, though.

At the human standing next to him. The one they had, apparently, been hunting.

The smart thing to do would be to take advantage of that fact, either by taking him back to the coven to find out what was so special about him or using him as bait for the wolves. Either plan required that Len take control of him immediately, either by knocking him out or getting the rest of his team to contain him long enough to get him out of the subway tunnel and to the location of their choice.

But it still felt like something was lodged in his chest, the warmth in his palm pulsing like a heartbeat, and he didn’t question the instinct that had him shoving the human away from him and towards the exit. “Get out of here!” he shouted, yanking the communicator out of his ear. “They’re after you!” The human hesitated, looking stubborn, and Len pointed the gun at him. “ _Now_!”

Finally, the human ran. Len dove back into the melee, determined to keep the lycans there long enough for him to get away.


	2. Chapter 2

Amaya got away, along with some of her puppies, but Len made sure she had to put up a long, bloody fight to do it.  They even gave chase for a little while, pushing the lycans deeper into the sewers, before breaking off the pursuit and returning to the coven.

“Did we ever figure out who the lycans were after?” Jax asked, following Len into the underground weapons room. “I thought I heard you shout at someone to get away, but I couldn’t see who it was.”

Len’s expression didn’t even flicker. “Just some human.” He stripped off most of his guns in the same methodical way he always did. “Kept running into my line of fire. Yelling at them seemed easier than shooting them.”

If Len ever had to destroy the coven, Jax was one of the vampires he would make sure didn’t die. But there was only one person he’d ever really, truly trusted, and she’d been dead for centuries. The human the lycans had been so interested in would remain his secret alone.

Though he might have to fight for it. He could feel Sara’s eyes on him, though he didn’t know whether it was because she’d seen what happened or just picked up something off about his behavior. Either way, he’d have to watch himself better around her.

He closed his hand briefly, still able to feel the ghost of the human’s warmth against his palm.

“Louis was expecting you to bring home lycan heads.”

Len turned at the sound of Marcus Mardon’s voice. The regent of the Central Coven, Mardon spent most of his days buried in administrative duties and dealing with shit from their local Elder, the great and terrible Louis. He resented Len, though Len didn’t know if Mardon thought he’d try for his position or because he wanted to be running around hunting lycans like Len was.

Len didn’t mind Mardon. He was the only person who even came close to hating Louis as much as Len did.

“No heads, sadly, but I did find this.” Len turned around, pulling the glowing blue bullet out of his pocket and holding it up. “Hit Digger like a ray of sunlight, all the way down in a subway tunnel.”

Mardon swore, narrowing his eyes at the bullet. “Take it to Cisco. See if he can figure out what they did.”

As if he’d been called, Cisco suddenly appeared. “Sunlight?” He held out his hand, letting Len drop the bullet into it, then peered at it through the huge goggles he was wearing. He held it up, shaking it slightly. “The chemiluminescence would be obvious, even for someone like Harley, but I wouldn't have expected him to use it to match the frequency of UV radiation." His eyebrows lifted. "Maybe he stole it?"

Len smirked. Cisco and Harley, the lycan’s top scientist, had spent the last several decades in a technology war far more personal and bitter than the battle between their different species. Half of the most interesting toys Cisco cooked up were a direct result of needing to counter something the lycan had come up with.

Mardon, who was far less amused with the feud than Len, made an exasperated noise. “Can you counter it?”

Cisco flashed a grin that looked suspiciously like the ones mad scientists flashed in old movies. “Not only can I counter it, it’s given me an idea for a silver atomizer that’ll be a hell of a lot more comprehensive than these itty bitty bullets.” He looked over at Len, something dangerous gleaming in his eyes. “Want to take it out for a spin once I get it pulled together?”

Len inclined his head toward Cisco in silent appreciation of the offer. “Don’t I always?” Cisco was another member of the dead siblings club – his older brother had been murdered a few centuries ago, in circumstances Cisco refused to talk about – and as a result always gave Len and Sara first crack at the best toys.

Cisco hurried off, clearly eager to get started, and Mardon gave a long-suffering sigh. Then he looked back at Len, expression serious again. “Louis wants to talk to you. Now.”

Len met his eyes with his most painfully bland look. “I’m sure he does.”

They stared at each other for a long moment, an exchange that undoubtedly looked like challenge from the outside, then Mardon gave a quick, sharp nod and left without another word. Len nodded as well, though Mardon could no longer see it, and turned to head upstairs to his rooms.

He hadn’t made it very far before Sara fell into step next to him. “Since when do you care about humans getting in your line of fire?” she asked, voice seemingly casual.

He shrugged. “It was inconvenient. I could have shot them to get them out of the way, but it would have taken an extra bullet.”

Len could feel her still watching him. “Jax was right – whatever you said, none of the rest of us could hear it clearly.” She paused briefly, for effect. Clearly, she’d been hanging around him too long. “With our communicators in, we should have been able to hear every word.”

“Let me know when you’re going to tell Cisco his tech doesn’t meet your exacting standards,” Len said lightly. He smirked, solely for effect. “You know how I love a good show.”

She made a low, frustrated noise at the evasion, but didn’t push it. She stayed silent for a few more steps, just walking next to him, and when she spoke again her voice was softer. “I’ve never seen you fight like you did near the end of the subway battle. You’re usually so cold.”

Implying that he hadn’t been, at the end. When he’d fought to keep Amaya and her puppies busy so the human could escape.

He let the frost leak into his voice. “Is there a point you’re getting at, or is this just you indulging in the sound of your own voice?”

She stopped moving at that, letting him get ahead. But Len could still feel her eyes on his back, and he knew she hadn’t let it go. Rather than give her more ammunition, he headed up to his rooms.

More specifically, the laptop he had hidden away. Cisco had hooked it in to the coven’s security network, which was connected to everything from the city’s security camera grid to the databases of several different law enforcement agencies. He could see it all down in the weapons room on a much more impressive set of screens, but the laptop had the benefit of letting him search without anyone else in the coven knowing about it.

It took a solid 10 minutes of scanning the security camera feeds outside the subway station to find him, but only moments for facial recognition to spit out his identity. Michael Rory, an ex-con currently working as an orderly at Central City Hospital. The name on his birth certificate was Michael Merlyn, but his family died in a house fire Rory was blamed for when he was 12 years old. At some point between then and his first adult arrest, he changed his last name. The arrests stopped four years before, around the same time he started working in the hospital.

Len’s brow lowered. There were myths that the first vampire and the first lycan were named Merlinus, but Len had always been pretty sure they’d just decided on that so they could claim credit for the Arthurian legends. There would be no reason to go after random humans with the same last name, especially because they would have no interest in drinking the blood.

Whatever the reason, there was no doubting that Amaya wanted him. Clearly, he’d have to do his research to find out what was so special about this lone human.

He cleared out of everything, shutting the laptop down so no one could conveniently stumble across what he was researching. Just as the screen went black, the doors to his room burst open.


	3. Chapter 3

Louis Snart, an Elder of the High Council of Vampires, stepped into the room.

The doors hit against the walls behind them, a petty show of super strength that didn’t require any actual skill and conveniently managed to damage something that belonged to his only son. Len, used to this, only flickered a glance at him as he closed the laptop completely. “As charming an entrance as always,” he said, the thick layer of boredom in his voice only barely managing to hide the anger always simmering beneath. “I take it you need something?”

Louis glared at him, trying valiantly to draw his squat body up into some sort of commanding pose. He was capable of the deepest depths of cruelty – though beating your children hadn’t been uncommon in 14th century Hungary, Louis had seen that as merely the starting point – he had never quite managed the commanding presence more befitting his current position. If he hadn’t supposedly murdered Lord Hunter in an ambush that had conveniently left him the only survivor, he wouldn’t be an Elder at all.

Still, he was, and killing one was the surest way to sign your own death warrant. Len didn’t care about dying, but he needed to wait until exactly the right moment. There were things he needed to know first.

When the glare didn’t work, Louis stepped forward menacingly. “I needed lycan heads to show Kendra at the party tonight. You _failed_ me, Lenard.”

This was where Len was expected to flinch away, or at the very least tense up, because even after all these centuries Louis still hadn’t quite accepted the fact that he’d lost any power he had over Len a long time ago. He would have tried to kill Louis before either of them had ever become vampires, if he hadn’t been so desperate to keep Lisza alive.  Her life had always been so much more important than his.

The irony of that was still bitter, even now.

Len leaned back in the chair, stretching his legs out in his most insolent pose.  “I know she’s more than a thousand years old, but do you _really_ think the heads of her enemies are going to be enough to make Kendra want to fuck you? I know Carter’s still in the ground for another 50 years, but have you seen the guards she walks around with? Believe me, her needs are already being taken—”

“ _Enough_!” Louis spat, his rage cheapened by the way he glanced behind him to see if anyone else was listening. “You are my _son_. You may be too stupid to care about power, but what you do reflects on me. You _will_ stand with me at this party, and you will keep your mouth shut, or so _help_ me I’ll—“

“You’ll what? Kill me?” Len let any pretence of emotion drop off his face, replaced by the chill he’d carried with him for centuries. “Is killing your child something you’ve had practice in, Louis?”

His father faltered at that, briefly, before the arrogance flooded back in to cover it over. “I told you, I had nothing to do with that. A lycan horde attacked the farm, looking for food. The attack was so brutal I would have died as well, had Vandal not turned me.”

“And you turned me, once I came back from the job _you_ sent me on.” He’d allowed it only because he hadn’t been sure then who had been responsible for Lisza’s death. He stayed alive, in part, because he refused to allow Louis to be the last living Snart. “And you never _were_ clear about which lycans were responsible. You kept telling me different groups, but none of them had _any_ of the trophies you said were stolen from the farm.”

“I was busy being _killed_ ,” Louis spat. “I wasn’t exactly paying attention. I’m sure you’ve killed the lycans who are responsible for your sister’s death a dozen times over. Your focus should be _here_ now.”

Len met his father’s eyes. “Yes,” he said mildly, predator to predator. “Maybe it should be.”

Louis stared him down. “If you were going to kill me, you’d have done it by now.” His voice was full of derision. “Go back to chasing the dogs. Let me know when you’ve grown up.”

He turned and stalked out of the room. Len, telling himself it was a good thing that Louis didn’t see him as a sufficient threat, opened the window and jumped down to the grass below.

He had someplace he needed to be.

000

Though the usual Death Dealer policy was to crash through the door and vanish by the time human law enforcement showed up, Len took the time to break into Rory’s apartment like the professional criminal he’d once been. Though locks had become considerably more complicated than they’d been in the 1300s, he’d kept his skills up well enough that neither the original lock on the door or the two Rory had added were any trouble.

He carefully re-locked them all behind him as he headed inside, knowing the sound of them being opened would give him more warning than footsteps, then surveyed the small set of rooms. It was as worn-looking as the rest of the building, with thin carpets and the kind of furniture found at junk shops and by dumpsters. The few pictures scattered around all seemed to be from the last few years, featuring combinations of people in a range of ages and colors suggesting neighbors or people from work rather than family. He could trace the chronology of them only by the slight increase of gray in Rory’s stubble and the increasing ease of his smile.

Len couldn’t help but make note of the fact that there was no sign of a romantic partner, even though that wasn’t at all relevant to the larger situation.

There was no sign of continued criminal activity, and more importantly no sign that he associated with lycans or even knew about them. The gun taped under the edge of the table was more of a sensible precaution than anything, especially given his past and the normal level of crime in this part of town, as was the small roll of cash tucked in the pair of socks. The few books scattered around the apartment tended were all on firmly human history.

When he heard the click of the first lock being opened, Len made no attempt to hide himself or what he was doing. Clearly, the only way of finding out what the lycans wanted with Rory was to interrogate him in person, finding out exactly what he knew without revealing any information of his own. If he didn’t know anything, he’d stash him someplace where the lycans couldn’t find him. Amaya and her puppies didn’t have quite the information access the coven did, but they’d figure it out eventually.

There was a hesitation after the first two locks, as if Rory had realized there was someone in his apartment. Eventually, though, the third lock clicked and the door quietly swung open. Len stayed where he was, leaning against the edge of the counter with his arms folded across his chest. Not exactly threatening, but ready to react in case Rory tried anything.

He heard the quiet sound of the door shutting, but Rory stayed just out of view beyond the edge of the wall. “If you’re here to kill me,” he said after a moment, “at least let me put down these cookies first.”

Len felt an odd shiver at the rough sound of Rory’s voice, but it had nothing to do with being cold. The memory of heat echoed over the palm of his hand, and he closed his fingers and forced his mind back to business. “You saved my life, earlier,” he said out loud, his voice far lighter than he felt. “Killing you now would be considered rude.”

There were a few beats of perfect silence, then Rory slowly walked into the room. Setting the cookies down on the table, he pulled out a chair and dropped down into it. Giving Len the most unafraid look he’d ever seen from a human, he slid the plate closer. “Cookie?”


	4. Chapter 4

Len watched him for a moment, startled by the brief but very real regret that he couldn't take the cookie. He'd thought he stopped caring about things like food a long time ago. "Sadly, I'll have to pass. Dietary issues."

Rory shrugged, picking up a cookie and taking a big bite. "So," he said after a moment. "If you're not here to kill me, what _are_ you here for? If it's information, I'm afraid I'm not gonna be a hell of a lot of help. I may have hit my head more than a few times over the years, but I'm pretty damn sure I've never seen any of those assholes from the subway."

Len knew he should be frustrated by the news, and because of that tried like hell to ignore the strange sense of relief he felt instead. "Has anyone approached you with an odd offer sometime in the last few weeks? Have you sensed anyone following you?"

Rory shook his head. "Still, it's damn easy to follow somebody in this city, especially if they've been out of the game as long as I have. If they stuck to public places, it's not as easy to pick a lone person out of the crowds we get here." He chewed thoughtfully for a moment, giving Len a penetrating look. "But like I said, I've been out of the game for awhile and I've never seen those assholes before. No idea why a crew with that much firepower would be interested in an orderly."

The chill inside Len pointed out that he had no obligation to answer the human's questions, merely keep him away from the lycan. For that matter, it added, there was no reason to be standing here having this _conversation_ when he could just knock human unconscious and drag him to a safe house. It was the simplest, most efficient solution to the problem, and what he would have done if it had been any other human in front of him.

But there was another whisper inside him, from a beloved voice he hadn’t heard in a very long time. _That isn’t how you make friends, Lenny._  The words sent a curl of warmth through him, an echo of memory that made him ache.

Some glimpse of it must have shown up on his face, because Rory’s expression suddenly gentled. “They got somebody of yours, didn’t they?” he said quietly. “Were they part of your crew, or are these guys the kind of assholes that go after innocents?”

Len ruthlessly pulled himself together, though he didn’t reach for the chill that had been his companion for centuries. No matter how much Lisza’s warmth hurt, he hadn’t let himself feel it in so long. “To answer your earlier question, I can’t say for certain why they’re after you.” He took a deep breath, pretending he couldn’t see the concern on Rory’s face. “My working theory is that it has something to do with your bloodline. Your birth name, Merlyn, most likely comes from a lineage that is… significant to this group.”

He could feel himself carefully stepping around the words “vampire” and “lycan,” though they were arguably the most relevant part of the entire explanation.  He told himself that it was merely a practical decision, letting him avoid the dramatic emotional reactions that always seemed to come when a vampire flashed fang at a human.  Human popular culture had swung toward vampires as some kind of mythic sexual partner, but any actual human he’d ever seen had only seemed to recognize the predator in his eyes. A terrified human would be difficult to work with.

The fact that his stomach twisted at even the thought of seeing terror in Rory’s eyes was something he very carefully didn’t mention to himself.

Ignorant of all of this, Rory’s expression darkened as he mulled over the little Len had let himself say out loud. “If that’s the case, they probably have a hit out on me.” His voice was flat now, the warmth that had been in it all the more recognizable in its sudden absence. “Anyone who cares at all about Merlyns is gonna sure as shit want me dead.”

Len’s brow lowered. “The house fire that was blamed on you?”

“Got blamed on me because I’m the one who started it.” Rory’s voice wasn’t so flat anymore, but the self-recrimination in his voice was somehow harder to hear. “I was a pyro. My old man whacked me whenever he saw me with a lighter, so I used to do my burning at night when I wouldn’t get caught.” He stopped suddenly, rubbing his hands on his legs. “I finally got some therapy for it, last time I was inside.” His gaze slid away from Len’s, either because of shame or the need to escape. “But back then, I didn’t know what the fuck I was doing.”

Len stayed silent, wishing he didn’t care at all about the pain in Rory’s voice. He knew the human’s assessment of the lycan’s reasoning was wrong – if revenge had been their goal, they would have had a clearer idea of what Rory had looked like. With that information, they would have gutted him long before Len had gotten anywhere near him.

But there didn’t seem to be much more reason to _take_ Rory. It was possible the lycan needed a sample of the original blood to reverse-engineer some disease designed to attack the vampires, but in that case why not go straight for vampire blood? Even if the Merlyn bloodline was the last surviving sample of the DNA that created both the vampires and the lycan – and that was a _huge_ if – then anything made from it would be just as potent against the lycan.

Clearly interpreting his silence as something different, Rory pushed himself to his feet. “So if that’s the case, you probably shouldn’t worry about keeping me alive anymore,” he said quietly, hands tightening on the back of the chair. “World’s probably gonna be a better place with me dead, and it won’t mess with your people at all.”

Len didn’t know he was going to say the words until he heard them coming out of his own mouth. “It’s my fault my sister’s dead.”

Rory went still, the sudden compassion in his eyes more painful than a knife would have been. He could practically hear the crack inside him, a centuries-old wall of ice starting to give way, and the words that he’d cut himself with for centuries finally slipped out into the light. “My father’s the one who arranged it, but I’m the one who left her alone with him in the first place. I should have just taken her and run, but I wanted to have some money set aside first. I wanted to have a plan.” He closed his eyes, his voice rough. “I thought we had _time_.”

He was too honest with himself to imagine Lisza forgiving him, knowing he didn’t deserve it. But there was that same familiar curl of warmth in the middle of the pain, and when he opened his eyes the understanding he could see on Rory’s face was the only kind of comfort he would have even considered accepting.

He took a deep breath, pulling himself back together despite the fact that the pieces no longer fit the way they were supposed to. “As for the group coming after you, I’m afraid they’re after something considerably more unpleasant than revenge. We need to—”

The rest of the plan was cut off by a huge crash coming from the floor below. There was a scream, more breaking noises, and an unmistakable roar. 

Len and Mick looked at each other, but no words needed to be said. They both knew that they’d just run out of time.


	5. Chapter 5

Len immediately shoved Rory towards the nearest window. “We need to get out of here. They’re not even pretending to just be a street gang anymore, which means they’re out for blood.”

Rory resisted the push, surprisingly well for a man with only human strength to rely on. “We can’t just run. There are plenty of assholes in the building, but there are also plenty of families.”

“They’re not stopping to snack.” Len shoved extra hard to get Rory moving, helping him shove the window open before pushing him through. “This is a _strike_ team, which means that they have one goal and one goal only – you. The best thing you can do for the other humans in this building is to get the hell away from it.”

Whether that was strictly true, Len didn’t know. But to get Rory clear, he’d say whatever he had to.

Mick gave him a sharp look, but let himself get pushed through the window and onto the fire escape. He tugged Len through almost immediately, as if half expecting him to shut the window and stay for a showdown, but there was no way he was letting Rory run off alone when the area was swarming with lycan. He needed protection, and Len couldn’t do that unless he was next to him.

“Tell me you have a car,” he said sharply, drawing his gun as he pushed Rory ahead of him on their way down the stairs. He hated the fact that the fire escape was such an extended choke point, especially since the lycan would start coming from all directions once they got closer to the ground. But if they’d tried to leave through the building, he would have been dragging Rory through a war zone. 

“Cover me for a couple of minutes and I can hotwire us one,” Rory said. “Or we could take— shit!”

He froze at the sight of the huge, fully-turned lycan hurrying up the stairs, flinging his arms out in an instinctive protective gesture he might not even realize he did. Len, slightly behind him on the stairs, fired two liquid silver bullets directly into the beast’s forehead. It went down with a scream, falling backwards and off the side, and Len started pushing Rory down the stairs again. “Now you know how important it is not to let them bite you.” Not that they’d try – if it was Rory’s blood they wanted, it made no sense to taint it – but in the heat of battle anything could happen.

Rory was distinctly silent as he continued moving, and Len felt a stab of something he refused to acknowledge was pain as they both hurried down the stairs as silently as possible. A roar above them made it clear they had company – discretion had never been the puppies’ strong suit – but it was far enough behind that Len didn’t have a good shot yet. He had better luck with the lycan trying to attack from below, one up the stairs and one trying to climb up the side. They were even bigger than the one he’d already taken out, enough that a part of the railing peeled away when the climber fell.

A few steps later, they realized that the railing wasn’t the only thing damaged by lycan corpses. The stairs along the last few floors were a wreck, and Len hesitated for a split second as he gauged the distance left. He forgot what humans were capable of withstanding, and if Rory broke something Len would have a harder time getting him safely away.

Rory, however, didn’t have the same hesitation, jumping off the side with a solidity that had a surprising amount of grace to it. Len followed immediately, shoving the gun in his hand at Rory before pulling out the spare. “Aim for the head,” he ordered. “Anything less won’t slow them down fast enough.”

It should have been unthinkable to arm a human, especially one that could just as easily try to put one of those liquid silver bullets into Len’s stomach. They wouldn’t kill him – only sunlight or losing his head could do that – but they’d hurt like hell and slow him down enough the lycan could finish the job. It was an almost ridiculous example of trust, and Sara would probably even more alarmed for his state of mind if she could see it.

But he just glared at Len, lifting the gun to fire two clean shots into the lycan that had been following them down the stairs. Then he dragged Len toward the street, where the cars were, and Len followed behind covering their escape. Luckily, a fully shifted lycan couldn’t hide for shit, so the odds that they’d be—

That thought cut off as someone _melted out of the fucking shadows_ in front of Rory. It was human-sized rather than shifted, but the guy moved with a fluidity Len had only seen in the oldest lycans. “We have no quarrel with you, death dealer,” the man said, his accent straight from the Old Britain that never seemed to make it into TV shows. “But we can’t let you leave with our property. The human belongs to _us_.” 

Len could _feel_ the power radiating off the lycan. “In the old days, leaving with other people’s property was one of my favorite hobbies,” he said, voice mocking. He shoved Rory behind him, and told himself that it was a good thing that the human ran away immediately. It would have only made things more difficult if he’d tried to stay and help the way he had before. “I’m thinking of picking it up again.”

Then he drew his spare gun and immediately started firing both barrels into the man’s face. He roared in pain, but leapt forward like he’d been shot with a normal human gun. His claws were out, burying themselves in Len’s chest and cutting through the leather like it was nothing. Len made his own noise of pain as he fell backwards, turning it into a roll in an attempt to knock the lycan off him. He managed it just long enough to see the lycan pushing the liquid silver bullets back out of his body way the hell faster than he’d ever seen another lycan do it.

Some of his reaction must have slipped out onto his face, because the man gave a slow smile that held as much madness as it did pain. “There’s a great deal you can do on sheer willpower,” he said, a wild edge to the words. “Much easier for your father to lie and say he killed me than actually doing the deed.”

Len had a split second to process the implication of that before the lycan leapt again. He dove out of the way, not quite escaping another swipe to the side, and started running in the opposite direction he’d sent Rory. He fired behind him, a few more shots that sounded like they hit, but they slowed him down only fractionally. The only hope Len had was either escape or to somehow get him back to the coven, where there would be an entire army of vampires happy to help him kill the bastard.

And force Louis to give them all some fucking answers.

Of course, Len had to survive long enough to get there. He ran out into the street, dodging the few cars that were still on the street and hoping that his pursuer wouldn’t be so lucky. He could feel the blood loss already starting to get to him, the world going gray at the edges. Surely those _eight bullets_ had left enough silver behind to do some lingering—

Before he could finish the thought, there was the solid sound of a car crashing into someone behind him and continuing over the top. Relief was enough to make Len stumble, but that was far less significant than the already-familiar voice shouting behind him.

“Get in, asshole! Cars don’t do shit to werewolves!”

Len turned, stunned at the realization that Rory had come back for him. The passenger door was hurriedly pushed open, Rory’s hand reaching out, and Len’s instinct finally pushed through his surprise and got him moving. He dove inside the car as Rory peeled away, slamming the door even as he kept an eye on the rearview mirror. He saw Lord Hunter stagger to his feet as another lycan ran over to him, but for some reason neither of them gave chase.

Which was good, because the gray in his vision was winning. He looked bad enough that Rory glanced over at him, more genuine worry in them than Len anyone had directed at Len in centuries. “Shit, he got you good.” He turned to the road. “You need a doc.”

“No. Just blood.” He could smell Rory’s, sharp and sweet, but somehow it didn’t make him hungry. It made him… it…. “You came back for me.”

Mick glanced over at him again, expression oddly gentle. “You’re an idiot.”

He carried the warmth in Rory’s voice with him into the blackness.


	6. Chapter 6

When Len woke up, there was a brief, disorienting moment when he had no idea where he was. He was half undressed, the wounds on his torso securely if unnecessarily bandaged, and the battered cushions at his back and side felt like a beaten-up couch. A thin, dusty blanket had been draped over him, warmer than it had any right to be, and there was a taste in his mouth that had the familiar edge of bagged human blood.

Memory came back to him, making him reluctant to open his eyes. _You need a doc. No, just blood._ “It’s dangerous to feed an injured vampire,” he said quietly, not sure he was angrier at himself for spilling the information so easily or for not telling him earlier.

“Not like I let you start sucking on my neck.” Rory’s voice was wry, with something else he couldn’t quite recognize, but it was the warmth that Len’s brain latched onto. “Lucky for you security at the hospital is shit.”

Len opened his eyes, making himself sit up. The room’s lone window was covered with old newspapers, the coat of black spray paint over the top far more fresh. “How long was I out?” he asked, trying to decide which was worse. A few hours meant that it would be daylight outside, but longer meant that the lycan had that much more time to track them down.

And all of that was easier to think about than a safe way to say “thank you.” Or, worse, wish he’d been awake when Rory had been stripping him. He could still remember how Rory’s heat had felt against the palm of his hand. How would it have felt against more vulnerable—

He ruthlessly cut the thought off as Rory came around the corner, wearing a different Henley and a solemn expression. “Most of the day.” He glanced at the covered window. “We weren’t followed, but I don’t know shit about scent trails. If the movies are right about how good werewolves’ sniffers are, they’ll find us better than the cops ever could.”

Len watched his face, seeing resignation but no fear. “You’re taking the sudden presence of supernatural creatures surprisingly well.”

Rory shrugged. “There are worse things.” He looked over at Len. “Getting kind of sick of calling you Mystery Man in my head, though. If I don’t get a real name, I’m warning you now you’ll get stuck with Edward.”

Len groaned, more because he knew it was the reaction Rory wanted than the actual truth. In the back of his head, he could feel the ghost of Lisza’s smile. “Of all the vampire movies humans have made, why did that have to be the one that became so popular?”

Rory’s lips curved a little, and Len forced himself to ignore the little clench his stomach gave in response. “If you ever want to make one of your vamp friends suffer, have ‘em read one of the books.”

Len felt his own lips curve. “Len.”

All too briefly, Rory’s smile widened. “I like it.” It dimmed slightly, and Len already missed the sight of it. “I know you already know my name, but you can call me Mick if you want.”

“Mick.” Len repeatedly the name carefully, letting himself feel the shape of it. He’d heard thousands upon thousands of names during the centuries he’d been alive, but some were more important than others.

Then he let out a breath, forcing his mind back to practicalities. “You may get the chance to suggest it yourself. As much as I hate to say it, I need to take you back to the coven.” He’d try to keep him out of his father’s sight if at all possible, but hopefully Kendra’s presence would be enough to distract him. Mardon might actually help Len hide him, if he could get the younger vampire to focus on Mick’s potential tactical value. “I don’t trust anyone else to protect you, but at least I can set them to information gathering.”

Mick hesitated. “Len….” He stopped, like he was hunting for words, then looked away. The fingers of his right hand opened, then closed. “I don’t think you need to worry about protecting me anymore.”

An all-too-familiar knife of pure ice shot through Len. “What happened?” An instant later, however, he realized the answer on his own. “They bit you.” The words were pure frost, but his grip was gentle as he pulled back the edge of the Henley to reveal the neatly applied bandage. “While you were going for the car, and I let myself get distracted.” A quick, efficient tape lift showed the teeth marks he’d expected, and the ice twined through the old, familiar rage that rose up. “They _bit_ you.”

“If it wasn’t for the gun you gave me, they would have done a hell of a lot worse.” He wrapped a hand around Len’s wrist, the same gentleness in his touch as there was in Len’s. “There’s enough bullets left I’ll be able to take myself out quick and quiet after you go. That way, they’ll have to go after someone else to get whatever it was they wanted.”

Everything inside Len rebelled at the idea. “So you’re fine talking to a monster, but becoming one is more than you can deal with?” The cold rage in his voice didn’t do _nearly_ enough to hide the pain.

The instant denial on Mick’s face tried like hell to reach through the cold. “Werewolves are the _bad guys_ ,” he said firmly. “Are you _really_ telling me you want to deal with a newly turned werewolf when the rest of them are still out there looking for you? There’s no way in _hell_ the other vampires will be okay with that.”

There wasn’t. If Mick survived the change – and Len refused to accept any other possibility – then he would immediately become someone the rest of the coven would shoot on sight. Len would either have to do the same, or make himself the same kind of target. He would make himself an outcast for however long they both managed to stay alive, an amount of time that was probably best counted in weeks and months rather than years or centuries.

It wasn’t even a choice.

Len pulled his wrist free, just as careful. “I don’t _care_ what my former associates think,” he said flatly. “You are going to survive this, just like I am, and if we need to we’ll take out both the lycan and the vampires.” His tone left no room for argument. “And if we die trying, we’ll at least make our enemies do the work of finishing us off.”

“If you go back to your ‘former associates,’ you won’t die at _all_ ,” Mick insisted, his voice rough with emotion. “I’m not worth this, Len. I don’t know why the werewolves think they want me, but they must be wrong.”

Len took Mick’s face in his hands, holding on tight. “I don’t care about the lycan, either,” he said, the ice inside him somehow turning to fire in his voice. “I don’t even care that turning will hurt, and this gives you a perfect excuse to die. All that matters is that you are _mine_ , Michael Rory.” He was shaking a little, for the first time in centuries. “You don’t get to die.”

Mick’s gaze locked with his, the shock in his eyes vanishing under a flare of heat. Len let go, bracing himself for a fight, but Mick just caught his arms and pulled him down into a kiss that felt like falling into the heart of a sun. Fire scorched through him, the sensation so intense it was almost painful, but Len would have cut off one of his own limbs rather than stopping it a second before he had to. He held onto Mick like he was a lifeline, feeling like every cell of his body was being rewritten in Mick’s fire.

When they broke apart, Mick was a little shaky himself. “If you’re gonna keep me alive, you’d better have a plan to stop me from eating you once the change hits.”

Len leaned his forehead against Mick’s, everything inside him a crackling flame. “I have a few ideas.”


	7. Chapter 7

Another few hours passed before it was dark enough that Len could risk going outside. He hated the last one most of all, because that was when the change really started hitting Mick. Len had never seen a lycan go through the change – when they found those about to turn, vampire policy was to kill them quickly – but the vampiric change was a painful, brutal process. From the look of things, it wasn’t any easier for a lycan.

“There are sedatives,” Len breathed, crouched next to Mick as he curled up on the couch. “They’ve been calibrated to keep even the wildest lycan contained, so they should be strong enough to knock you out through the worst of the change.” He stroked a hand over the sweaty curve of his head, the fever burning through him a mockery of his usual warmth. “Blood will soothe you through some of the hunger pangs, and afterwards I’ll take you hunting.”

Mick closed his eyes, the strain in his body easing slightly at Len’s touch. He hoped the relatively cooler temperature of his skin was some kind of comfort. “Only assholes,” he whispered, voice rough.

Len closed his eyes, pressing his lips against Mick’s forehead. How Lisa would laugh, to hear he’d ended up claiming someone with such a soft heart. “Only assholes.”

Mick nodded, wincing at another fresh bout of pain. “Come back soon.”

Len’s chest clenched. If he could, he would fight the pain himself. “As fast as I can.”

000

He stripped the safehouse with ruthless efficiency, taking everything they would need not only for the night but in the days to follow. There were other safehouses they could raid, but it wouldn’t be as easy to access them after he became persona non grata with the coven. Best to get everything he could now.

Even now, there wasn’t a shred of regret inside him for what he was doing. That he’d allowed Mick to get bit in the first place, yes. But abandoning the coven for him? They had always been temporary, even though he’d assumed it would be his father’s death that slammed the door closed. He’d known then that the best he could hope for from even his closest associates was a head start.

This? It would make it harder to kill Louis, of that he had no doubt. But he felt like Lisza would have approved.

He’d just finished when he heard the two figures approaching the safehouse, broadcasting their presence clearly enough that they likely had the right to be there. Coven members, then, possibly even other death dealers looking for resources. The simplest answer would be to simply not give them an opportunity to object to his presence. He headed to the window, ready to—

“Len.” A quiet, familiar voice, just outside the door. “It’s us.”

He stilled. If it had been nearly anyone else, he would have shot through the door or just kept walking. But if anyone in the coven could successfully track him, it was her. “Sara.” His hand tightened on the strap of the bag. “May I ask who exactly you mean by us?”

“Jax.” She sounded utterly serious, echoes of the soldier she’d once been bleeding through the death dealer she was now. “Your father sent us to bring you in.”

His jaw tightened. If he somehow knew…. “We both know that’s not going to happen.”

“Look, we know that.” Jax now, sounding alarmingly open and honest for a proper vampire. “But if we end up lying for your ass, we’d better know why.”

Swearing softly – he didn’t have _time_ for this – Len opened the door.  Sara strode through the door, her expression fierce now that she’d gotten past the first barrier. Jax flanked her, his expression more relaxed than it should have been when faced with someone as dangerous as Len. They both still trusted him, at least to a certain extent.

The thought felt strange inside his head. Before this, he hadn’t really worried about being trustworthy.

Sara marched right up to him, staring him down. “I need answers, Len,” she said firmly. “I didn’t say anything in front of the rest of the coven, but if this is somehow the start of you moving against your father I need _details_. If nothing else, I need to be sure Jax and I are far enough away that no one can order us to cut your head off.”

The comment, along with the fact that she’d clearly picked up on his long-term goals and kept silent about it, was tantamount to a dramatically emotional declaration of friendship in their world. Len watched her face, wondering what else the ice inside him had made him miss. Wondering if he could trust her as much as she seemed to trust him.

He took a deep breath. “You fought with the foot soldiers in some of the old battles. Did you ever see Lord Hunter in person?”

Sara blinked, startled by the seeming change in topic. “Once.” She hesitated, remembering. “He didn’t transform to fight, like so many of the other lycan. And he would always charge in at the head of his army, like an absolute lunatic.”

She sounded like she almost admired him. He hoped that meant she would give he and Mick more of a head start. “He’s still alive, which means dear old dad lied about offing him.”

Sara and Jax both snapped to attention. “How is that possible?” Jax asked, looking back and forth between them. “All the stories say he brought the guy’s _head_ back.”

“A lycan head, even though anyone who’d actually seen the Lord Hunter knew he rarely transformed.” Sara’s voice was soft and oh-so-deadly. “I can’t just walk in there with your assertion. Come back with us, and show the coven your proof.”

That would take hours, if he was lucky, and leave Mick entirely alone. “I only know what I saw, and you know I avoided the battlefront whenever my father was anywhere near it.” Knowing that it was the best choice he had, he bit his wrist and held it out to her. “Taste my memories of the last 24 hours. Bring your proof back to the coven firsthand.”

It would also give her proof of Mick, that he’d been bitten, and directions to the old hideout of Mick’s where he was still waiting. But even if she changed her mind about killing him, he trusted her to be above that kind of collateral damage.

Surprise flared in her eyes, but she came over and pressed her mouth to the wound. Len dropped the back, letting his other hand linger near one of the new guns strapped to his side. He didn’t want to fight them, but he would if he had to.

Sara broke away after a few seconds that felt like an eternity. “It’s him.” Her voice was strained as she looked at Len, and he knew she’d seen everything. “We’ll take care of it. Use the time to get your new friend as far away from here as possible.”

He nodded. It was the most he could have hoped for. “Thank you.”

Jax looked back and forth between them. “Friend?”

Len took a step back. “Let’s just say I’m no longer your boss anymore.” He focused on Sara again. “If you have to, let Mardon see it. He’s got enough interest in taking down my father that I don’t think he’ll be as distracted as the rest of the coven. And between the two of you….”

“…we should be able to convince everyone else,” Sara finished, her tone the same as if they were discussing tactics. Then something that looked almost like sadness flickered over her expression. “He’s the reason you fought so hard in the subway,” she said quietly. “After all these years, he finally woke you up.”

Len had no idea how to answer that, so he decided he was safest not to try. “If Mardon doesn’t make you head of the death dealers, tell him I’m coming back long enough to make him regret the decision.”

The sadness disappeared under a moment of wry humor. “I’m sure he’ll be quaking in his boots.”

“He will if he knows what’s good for him.” Then he disappeared out the window, hurrying back to Mick.  


	8. Chapter 8

In the darkest part of the night, Len sensed the team gathering outside. He only caught sight of shadows, but it was enough to show their movements and let him know they were lycan. Mick was still tossing and turning through the change, the sedation leaving him out of it enough that Len hoped he was missing the worst of the pain. Still, it left him that much more defenseless, and if Len went outside to properly greet their guests it would be all too easy for someone to sneak in and grab him. Better to make their stand here, holding them off until daylight allowed them to get clear.

He braced for the initial assault, though he didn’t expect it to come in the form of a polite knock on the door. “This doesn’t have to come to bloodshed, Snart,” Lord Hunter called through the door, arrogantly matter-of-fact rather than mocking. “We can sense that Rory is still alive, but those chains you have him in won’t be enough to handle a half-turned lycan. Let us take him off your hands, and we can both be on our way.”

Len pressed the barrel of the gun against the door, estimating where Hunter’s torso would be. “And what exactly do you plan on doing with him?”

Hunter made a sharp mocking sound. “What do you care? The only reason he’s not dead right now is because you want to use him as leverage.”

He might have to bargain, as much as he hated the idea. But Len's life wasn't the priority here. "Mick is off the table. If you want a prize out of me, pick something else."

Now Hunter sounded derisive. "Are you _really_ going to risk death just so you can bring a fully turned, angry lycan back to your coven?"

"Oh, I'm just as happy killing any vampires who try to touch him." He coated the words in some of the old chill. "But it's you and your puppies who are standing in front of me now."

There was a sudden silence on the other side of the door, too deep to allow for even the subtlest movement. "Parley," Hunter said finally, every trace of challenge gone from his voice. "I ask to be allowed inside, alone, to see for myself. If what you say is true, then I swear that neither you nor Mr. Rory will be harmed."

Len was sure it was a trick, but he also knew he didn't have a better option. He carefully opened the door enough to let Hunter in, gun ready and standing out of range of an immediate attack. When Hunter stepped through the door, hands relaxed at his sides in the closest thing to a harmless pose the lycan had, Len shifted so that he would have a direct shot at him if he tried to do something to Mick. The bullets wouldn’t take him out, but it would slow him down until Len found something that did.

But Hunter didn’t do anything that Len could construe as a threat, even at his most paranoid. He just walked over to Mick, still tossing and turning in the nest of blankets and old couch cushions on the floor, and watched him with an unreadable expression. He picked up the blood bag, raising an eyebrow at Len.

“A steer would have been better,” Len said dryly. “But it was all I had, and it took the edge of his hunger off.”

Hunter dropped it again, looking down at Mick for another long moment before meeting Len’s eyes. When he spoke again, his voice was soft. “May I ask why?”

Len kept the gun steady. “He’s mine.”

Hunter almost smiled at that. “I had a vampire who was mine, once. I started a war for her, so it would be remiss of me to expect anything less of you.” He looked back down at Mick. “I’m afraid Mr. Rory will still be coming with us, but you are welcome as well. It seems we have things to discuss.”

Len hated the idea. But until Mick made it through the change, he was basically defenseless. And Len… he didn’t want to be anywhere Mick wasn’t.

It was a five percent chance of survival, versus a zero percent chance. It wasn’t much, but Mick mattered too much not to take it. “It seems we do.”

000

Amaya insisted on keeping a bag over Len’s head, despite Hunter’s assertions that the enemy could be trusted with the directions to the lycans’ main stronghold. Privately, Len agreed with Amaya, and accepted the restriction without protest as long as he stayed in the same vehicle as Mick.

Amaya stayed in the same vehicle as well, even though he could feel her itching to run. “Why this one?” she asked quietly, honest curiosity in her voice. “You’ve killed thousands of us over the centuries. Tens of thousands. Why fight to save this one?”

Len was tempted to lift the bag enough to see her expression, but hand-to-hand combat and a long car-ride weren’t a good combination. “If you’re expecting love poetry, you’re going to be disappointed.”

“I never said a word about love poetry.” He could hear the smile in her voice, even though he couldn’t see it. It was one of those smiles that showed how sharp your teeth were, but that didn’t mean there wasn’t humor in it. “Though it’s interesting that you brought it up.”

Len couldn’t stop himself from growling a little. “Can we go back to trying to kill each other?”

She actually patted his leg at that. “Soon, I’m sure.”

When they arrived at the underground network of abandoned subway tunnels that served as home base for the lycan, Hunter’s team of grunts carried Mick into a room that looked like an unfortunate cross between a hospital and a lab. Len’s hand went to his gun, ready to strongly express his displeasure if anyone even looked at Mick wrong, but Hunter stopped him with a light touch to the shoulder. “He’s monitoring the change,” he said quietly. “We won’t inject him with the vampire blood until he’s fully transformed.”

Len gave Hunter a piercing look. “So you’re going to experiment on him?”

The younger lycan gave Len a disgusted look. “Everyone over 300 years old always says the word ‘experiment’ like it’s an insult,” he complained. “We may be immortal, but that only makes it more our responsibility to push the boundaries of what can be done. When I invented those sun guns, do you think I went, ‘oh no, nothing like this has ever been—‘”

“Hartley.” Hunter cut him off with a faintly chiding tone, then turned back to Len. “The injection will only be done with Mr. Rory’s full consent. And it’s not experimentation – we already obtained a sample of his blood that proved it could fully integrate both the lycan and vampiric strains. It’s a gift he inherited from his forebear, one that will make him greater than either you or I could ever hope to be.”

“I don’t give a shit about that,” Len snapped. “All I care about is what _he_ wants.”

“So enlighten us, Snart,” Hunter said, voice easy enough that Len knew it couldn’t be trusted. “Do you think he’ll want to help end centuries of killing?”

Mick’s restlessness was increasing, as if even half-unconscious he knew how bad an idea this was. “You know as well as I do that all he’ll be is a bigger weapon,” Len shot back. “And if you think you can try and guilt trip him, I’ll be here to—“

He cut himself off when a howl went up from elsewhere in the tunnels, a single voice that spread like wildfire. Len didn’t have to see the alarm on Hunter’s and Hartley’s faces to know what it meant – he’d heard it occasionally just before his death dealers had attacked. It was a warning that the enemy were coming, and they were ready to kill.

And for the lycan, there was only one real enemy – vampires.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Balfasz is a modern Hungarian word meaning a clumsy/stupid person. If anyone has access to actual 14th/15th century Hungarian insults, I would love it if you could pass it along.

“You let yourself get _followed_?” Len snapped at Hunter, not sure whether he was more furious at the lycan or himself. Maybe the information he’d given Sara had led them to the safehouse, which had put the coven in a position to follow them here. If he’d just kept putting her off, then maybe—

“Of _course_ not,” Hunter shot back derisively. He opened his mouth again, then went still as another round of howls went up. Len couldn’t translate this one, but Hunter immediately cursed. “It’s your father.” His jaw tightened. “He doesn’t have an army with him, but he _does_ have an assault team.”

“You told my _father_ where your hideout was?” Len would swear – in Hungarian, which could achieve a level of cursing English could never dream of matching – but not even his native language was complicated enough to fully grasp the level of stupidity. Besides, he didn’t have _time_. “I need to get Mick out of here immediately.”

If he’d known Hunter had been this _stupid_ , he never would have let Mick be taken here. Their chances were better back at the safehouse.

“Be reasonable.” Hunter shot forward, grabbing Len’s arm. “Rory’s in no shape to be—”

The rest of the sentence was cut off by Len whirling around and slamming him against a wall. “We’re leaving. _Now_.” The words were an order. “And if you try to stop us, I don’t care about your little trick with the liquid silver bullets. I _will_ find a way to kill you.”

Hunter was about to shoot back his own response when he was cut off by a pained voice coming from the hospital bed. “Anyone ever told you you have a way with people?”

Len dropped Hunter, the other lycan immediately forgotten as he hurried to Mick’s side. His face had started to change shape, a mouthful of sharp teeth to match the claws he’d grown, but Len could understand him even if his voice was mangled. “I hear crashing. Howls.” He grabbed Len’s jacket, snagging his claws. “What’s going on?”

Len briefly thought about lying, but right now there was no way to protect Mick from the truth. “Thanks to Lord Balfasz here, my extremely homicidal father has just shown up with either a chunk of the coven or thugs he’s bitten and turned into a hit squad.” A move he should have _anticipated_ if he’d been half as good at strategy as he’d thought he was. “Which means I’m getting you out of here. Now.”

Mick tried to get up, with Len’s help, when another wave of pain sent him back down again. “Go without me,” he managed, the words half lost in a growl. “I’ll only slow you down.”

“ _Never_ ,” Len swore, hand gripping Mick’s neck. “I told you, you’re mine.” 

“If we inject you with vampire blood, it will push you through the rest of the change and give you strength and power like nothing else,” Hunter said, moving closer. The smaller lycan had vanished at some point, clearly smarter than the rest of them. “An _army_ of lycan couldn’t stand against you.”

“He’s lying,” Len protested, not willing to let Mick go long enough to deal with him. “Don’t listen to him. We’ve got to get you out of here.”

“I can hear his heartbeat. He doesn’t think he’s lying.” The words slurred as his mouth lengthened even more. “But you biting me should do the same damn thing.”

Len’s heart stopped. “Mick, no.”

“My choice.” He met Len’s eyes. “You’re mine, too.”

There was no possible way to argue with that. Chest tight with heartbreakingly sweet pain, Len leaned down and bit the curve of Mick’s neck. His blood was as sweet as it had smelled earlier, despite the sharp edge of lycan in it, but it still didn’t remind him of food.

If he’d been someone else – possibly his sister – he might have said it reminded him of the fantasy of what home was supposed to be.

Len pulled his fangs away, not letting go. For a moment, Mick’s hands curled even more tightly in the front of Len’s coat. Then he spasmed, ripping himself away, and Len was seconds away from murdering Hunter. “Mick!”

Mick curled forward. “I’m—” Anything else he’d been about to say disappeared as his muzzle transformed, stretching outward the rest of the way before flowing backwards. His entire body seemed to ripple with the change, fur rippling outward and in as if it couldn’t decide what it wanted to do. It all looked like it _hurt_ , and Len cursed himself for giving in for even a second. He should have _known_ ….

“Looks like you got my new toy all ready for me, son.”

Len whirled around at the sound of his father’s voice. Louis Snart had burst into the room, his best clothes roughened up like he’d been in a fight. Unfortunately, he also had a sword Len vaguely recognized as Kendra’s hanging from his belt and a triumphant expression that boded ill for everyone.

When he met Len’s eyes, he smirked. “Regretting you didn’t choose the correct side?” he asked. “Don’t worry. If you leave while I collect the secret weapon Hunter was working on, I might even let you live.”

Hunter leapt on him with a roar, and Len reached for Mick to get him out the back while Louis was distracted. That plan lasted about 15 seconds, which was how long it took for Louis to draw Kendra’s sword and slide Hunter’s head off in mid-leap. Both crashed to the ground, and Louis gave them a derisive look as he kicked the head away. “You got cocky,” he told the corpse, and it was a genuine shock that the irony didn’t kill him. “You got so used to your trick with the silver bullets that you forgot the old ways are still the—”

Whatever else he’d been about to say was cut off when Len shot him. It was a gun meant to be used against lycan, full of liquid silver bullets, but if the way Louis doubled over was any indication it still hurt like hell. _Then_ Len leapt on him, slamming him back against the wall so hard the sword was knocked out of his hand. If he could keep him disoriented long enough to grab the sword….

Louis, however, refused to go down that easily. He tried to grab the gun out of Len’s hand, forcing Len to throw it aside rather than let Louis have it. _Then_ he tried to grab for the gun strapped to Len’s thigh, forcing Len into a roll. Louis continued it, reaching for the sword now, and Len elbowed him in the face long enough to pull the silver gun out of his thigh holster and shoot the vampire that suddenly appeared in the doorway. He staggered away as Louis took advantage of the distraction, throwing Len aside entirely and starting toward Mick.

The mere possibility of what Louis could do gave Len a burst of speed, letting him grab the sword and dive for his father. Louis whirled around at the last minute, throwing a chunk of testing equipment at him, and Len dove to the side to avoid it. Another roll and he was back on his feet, running at his father with everything—

“Your sister’s not dead.”

The words, obviously untrue, still made him stumble. “You’re lying.”

“I’m not.” Louis took a step back. “I knew I’d need leverage against you if you ever tried an insurrection. I turned her, the same way I did you, and I’ve kept her locked away in a tower ever since.” He held up a hand. “If you let me walk away, I’ll tell you where she is. You can be together again.”

Every instinct he had said his father was lying. But his newly de-iced heart flared with hope, enough to make him falter. Louis Snart was damn good at strategy, and Lisza was the one thing that could possibly stop Len from killing him. If there was even a _chance_ ….

Even that moment was enough. With a triumphant sneer, Louis dove for the sword.


	10. Chapter 10

Before Len could even stumble back, there was an immense roar from behind him. A dark shape leapt forward, crashing into Louis with claws outstretched. Len could still see Mick's body still rippling with the remnants of the change, his huge form a sleek black with only some of the usual lycan characteristics, but if anything was _better_ at dealing out damage than either lycans or vampires.

Louis was down before he could even blink, but Mick hadn't intended it to be a death blow. He yanked Louis upward, a hand around his throat, and the utter terror on his father's face was a sight that Len knew he would cherish for a long time to come.

Even that, though, paled in comparison to the way Mick dragged him down and roared in his face. " _Tell him where she is!_ "

Louis's eyes bugged out as his hands scrabbled at Mick's huge claws. He made a choking sound, and Mick dropped him a little before grabbing the front of his shirt. Len, watching his father's face, tightened his hold on the hilt of his sword. In the distance, he could hear the sounds of other battles raging.

Louis heaved a few theatrical breaths. "It's too complicated to just tell him. I—" Mick shook him, cutting him off with a squawk, but he rallied. "I'm serious! She's my only daughter. I guarded her carefully so that none of my enemies could...."

He kept talking, spinning a story that anyone who didn't know him might be stupid enough to believe. Even Len was tempted, centuries of experience losing the fight against the thin thread of hope. What if... what if he was telling the truth? Lisza would be the ultimate leverage against him, and if anyone would know that it would be Louis. It would be incredibly dangerous to keep him alive, but Len could keep him in line if he had to. And with Mick’s help, it would be—

The thought cut off when he saw Louis’s hand slip inside the edge of his coat, and Len knew he’d made a mistake. He could gamble his own life in order to try and find Lisza, but by allowing his father to stay alive for even a minute he put Mick at risk as well. _Looks like you got my new toy all ready for me, son._

He stabbed out, sending the sword directly through Louis’s stomach. He yelled out in pain, Mick let go in surprise, and he dropped to the ground in a heap. The item he’d been grabbing rolled away, a needle full of a sickly yellow liquid, and Len kicked himself for even letting it get that close.

His father clutched his bloody stomach, gaze flickering over to the needle, then met Len’s eyes. “You’ll never find your sister without me,” he sneered. “You know that as well as I do. So put away that fancy little pin I stole off that bitch Kendra, get me some bandages from that cupboard over there, and we can get this show on the road.”

 _Don’t listen to him, Lenny,_ his sister’s voice whispered inside him. _All we ever needed was each other._

“Sure,” he said, voice utterly emotionless. Mick took a small step back, as if he knew what Len was thinking. “You just wait there. I’ll go get it.”

Louis’s posture relaxed, his sneer turning into a smirk of triumph. Len moved toward the cupboard, stepping past Louis, then immediately whirled around and sliced Louis’s head off in a single clean move. There was enough momentum to it that the head rolled away slightly, his empty eyes staring at Len again.

For a few seconds, all Len could do was stare back. Shouldn’t there be some sense of triumph? Some sense of closure?

Then Mick staggered, the weariness of the change finally hitting him, and it was enough to kick Len into gear. “Come on.” He scooped the needle up, stuffing it into his pocket before throwing Mick’s arm over his shoulder. “We have to get out of here.”

They moved carefully through the tunnels, looking for any sign of an exit route while avoiding anyone else still in the tunnels with them. There wasn’t much fighting anymore, from the sound of it, but also not the mourning he would have expected if one of them had found Hunter’s corpse.

In fact, Len realized suddenly, they sounded like they were evacuating.

“Army’s coming,” Mick rumbled, the lycan fangs barely fitting in the relatively human-shaped mouth. “Sounds a hell of a lot bigger than the last one.”

Swearing, Len pulled them along faster. Mick was exhausted, but they could maybe get him up through a sewer grate if he had to. He just had to find the right—

“Everyone, fan out!” Kendra’s voice, ringing out along the corridors. She sounded furious, and even though they weren’t the target that didn’t mean Mick wouldn’t feel the effects. Kendra had killed even more lycan over the centuries than Mick had, blaming them for killing her son centuries before. “Anyone who brings me the head of Louis Snart or Lord Hunter will be showered in riches and honor! Anyone who brings me a string of lycan heads will receive the same prize!”

They turned around, ducking into a shadowed corner. “Can you smell a way out?” Len asked, worry spiking. He could leave Mick here long enough to look for an exit on his own, but if anyone else found him then it would be the end anyway.

Mick shook his head. “Just vampires. Everywhere.” He stopped, as if he caught something. “Coming this way.”

A second later, Len could hear footsteps. He turned around, shoving Mick behind him, and reached for the needle he’d taken off his father’s corpse. He didn’t know if it would even have an effect on a vampire, but he had to—

He stepped forward when Mardon appeared in front of him, understanding lighting his eyes. Then he looked over Len’s shoulder, eyes widening, and Len squared his shoulders. “Don’t even think about it, Mardon,” he warned. “I’ll take out anyone who tries to hurt him, including you.”

Mardon’s brow lowered. “Did I say I was going to hurt him?” he snapped. “I can’t stop everyone else from trying, but I can get you to an exit so they don’t get the chance.”

Len froze, thrown by the unexpected offer. “Why would you do that?” he asked carefully.

A rueful expression flickered over Mardon’s face. “What did you call it?” he asked, sounding almost sad. “The dead siblings club?” When Len nodded, even more surprised, Mardon gestured behind him. “I wanted nothing more than to kill that bastard, but there’s no way I could have pulled it off. You got Clyde’s revenge when I couldn’t.”

Len didn’t know whether Mardon meant Louis or Hunter, but in the end it didn’t really matter. It was their chance, and he’d take it. “Then lead the way.”

000

A week and several thousand miles later, they were standing on a streetcorner in Minsk, Belarus. There was enough of a nightlife in the city that no one remarked on the young man dressed in black leather, or his seemingly much older boyfriend wearing a leather jacket and jeans.

“You know how many languages I’m gonna have to learn to even begin to catch up with you?” Mick grumbled, taking Len’s hand in his. It was still as warm as ever, like the sunlight he hadn’t felt against his skin in centuries, but by now it had become an exquisitely familiar sensation.

Len smiled slightly. “You’ve got plenty of time,” he murmured, knowing even Mick’s unshifted ears would hear it. “Until then, I’ll cover us both.”

“Yeah, well, maybe you should mention when people are threatening you with death a _little_ bit faster next time,” Mick said. “I know they were humans, so they probably couldn’t have done shit, but it annoys me when they try.”

Len’s chest flared with warmth. “I prefer they threaten me to when they threaten you. That’s when I get really annoyed.” He sobered suddenly, thinking about the task of untangling the paper trail his father had left across the centuries. They’d been using less savory humans to gather information and use as go betweens, keeping them away from both the local covens and lycan packs.

But that couldn’t last forever. “But if it comes down to one of us, leave me.” He looked over at Mick, deadly serious. “I want to find my sister, but not if you’re collateral damage.”

Mick met his eyes, expression gentle. “I did mention you’re an idiot, right?”

Len’s eyes narrowed. “Mick….”

Mick squeezed his hand. “I’m not going anywhere, Len, no matter how good you think you are at arguing.” He smiled a little. “Besides, I want to meet your sister. I feel like we’d get along.”

Chest tight, Len turned back to look at the night. “I’m sure you would.”

**Author's Note:**

> Come check out my [original fiction,](https://jennifferwardell.wixsite.com/mybooks) my [blog,](http://jennifferwardell.blogspot.com) or say hi to me on [Tumblr](http://sanctuaryforalluniverses.tumblr.com)!


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